by DJ Monroe
Strike A Match
DJ Monroe
Published by Pinwheel Books, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
STRIKE A MATCH
First edition. January 15, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 DJ Monroe.
Written by DJ Monroe.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Books by DJ Monroe
Chapter One
Colton English let out a startled cry as thunder boomed overhead and lightning slashed across the early evening sky. He clutched the steering wheel with both hands, took a deep breath to settle his nerves and peered through the rain drenched windshield. The wipers slapped back and forth frantically, barely able to keep the glass clear enough for him to see.
“There has to be a parking place here somewhere closer,” he said to himself and turned at the light to circle the block one more time.
In spite of the storm and the traffic and a dozen other things that had gone wrong that evening, he was almost giddy with excitement. Grant was on his way home from a two-week long business trip. Grinning, he drove slowly around the block, intent on finding a parking space closer to his building. The last thing he wanted to do was lug two bags of groceries any distance through the pouring rain.
A sharp blast from a car horn brought him up short and he stomped on the brakes. The car jerked to a halt. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he took another deep breath. He’d been concentrating so hard on looking for an empty spot to park, he’d almost rear ended a cab.
If he didn’t know better, Colton would think the universe was plotting against him. He’d meant to leave work early but had gotten stuck helping a customer at the last minute. Then he’d had to rush through the grocery store, grabbing what he needed for the dinner he planned that evening. He glanced at the groceries on the seat beside him. The crusty loaf of bread poked out of the top of one of the bags. Just the sight of it made his stomach growl and he was tempted to rip open the cellophane wrapper and break off a piece.
He began moving again, slower this time and paying more attention to the traffic around him. If he didn’t find a parking space close to the entrance to his building, everything would be drenched by the time he made it inside. Maybe one day soon, he and Grant could look for a different apartment with assigned parking spaces. Or a house.
The thought of the two of them buying a house together made him smile. He and Grant had met at a party just a little over a year earlier and although they were complete opposites in almost every way, they had hit it off and been inseparable ever since.
“Opposites do attract,” Colton muttered to himself, still amazed that he had found someone as perfect as handsome, successful Grant Howell to share his life - and his bed.
And Grant was on his way home at that very moment.
They really were a match made in heaven, and Colton would know, because he considered himself matchmaker extraordinaire. In fact, one of the reasons he could hardly wait to see Grant involved telling him about the office romance heating up between two of his co-workers. Grant had told him to stay out of it. Colton insisted on getting the two men together and it looked like his instincts were right. The two men were moving in together this weekend.
Grant’s extended trips out of town were frequent, but Colton was slowly getting used to them. He always strived to give Grant a warm welcome home and show him just how much he was missed. Tonight would be no different. Steaks on the grill, a light salad, the nutty, crunchy bread that Grant adored, and Colton had even splurged on their favorite wine.
Two days earlier, he had purchased expensive sheets, the soft high thread count that Grant loved. He’d put them on the bed that morning so that was ready for an even warmer welcome after the dinner and wine.
Colton shivered in anticipation.
His smile broadened. There, up ahead, almost directly in front of their building, he saw a car pulling out of a parking spot. Colton stopped and tapped his horn to let the man know it was okay to pull out into traffic. Parallel parking was not his forte but living in this apartment building had forced him to get better at it. At least the last few times he’d done it, he hadn’t ended up with two wheels on the sidewalk.
Yet, he still had to give himself verbal directions which always made Grant laugh.
“Pull up alongside the car you want to park behind and align your back tires with the other car’s back bumper,” Colton said aloud while performing the task.
The next step was to put the car in reverse and turn the wheels all the way to the right. Colton did that and looked out the back window just in time to see a tiny, white car slide right into the spot where he’d planned to park, stealing the parking place from right under his - his tires.
He was too stunned to even react until someone behind him honked impatiently. With a resigned sigh, Colton put the car in drive and moved forward in the bumper to bumper traffic. Tired of looking, eager just to get home, he found a parking space at the end of the block. Not ideal but close enough. Besides, he was way behind schedule and he wanted everything to be perfect for Grant’s arrival.
Again, he quivered with anticipation. Grant would be home soon.
Colton gathered the groceries on his lap, took a deep breath and stepped out into the pouring rain. The late summer rain wasn’t cold but it carried the promise of the coming autumn. Pocketing his car keys, Colton dashed through the rain, stepping in a puddle almost to his ankle and cursing under his breath. By the time he reached his building and yanked open the door, his hair was plastered to his head, his clothing was soaked and he was out of breath.
As he stepped into the foyer of his building, he remembered that the super, Mr. Ashley, had said something to him about his mail box being too full. They rarely received mail so checking it on a regular basis was not on Colton’s daily list of things to do. However, a quick glance at the little window showed that it was, indeed, stuffed full of mail.
“Probably junk,” he said to himself. “But while I’m thinking about it—."
Shifting the groceries to one hand, he fished in his pocket for the mail box key. When he yanked the little door open, several envelopes almost fell out but he caught them before they hit the floor. He grabbed the remainder of the envelopes and was tempted to just throw everything in the small trashcan nearby. Instead, worried that there might actually be something important that he would miss, he tucked the mail under his arm. They would get wet from his clothing but he couldn’t help that.
Locking the mail box, he headed for the elevator, pushed the UP button (with the worn out U) and waited. It was old and slow but at least he didn’t have to carry groceries up three flights of stairs to his apartment.
His cell chimed.
Juggling groceries and mail, he pulled it out of the little holster on his belt. Grant’s handsome, smiling face filled the screen. It was Colton’s favorite picture of him, taken while they were hiking early last spring. Colton was so excited and so eager
to hear his lover’s voice, he was barely aware of the mail hitting the floor.
He swiped the screen, answering the call. “Hello, baby,” Colton said. “I love you.”
“Hello,” Grant said.
“Please tell me you’re on your way home from the airport,” Colton said. “I can’t wait to see you.”
The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside, dragging his groceries with him. Keeping one foot inside the elevator to prevent the doors closing, he cradled the phone against his ear and scooped up the scattered mail with his free hand. Then he shoved it into one of the grocery bags. “I have a wonderful surprise for you,” he cooed, his thoughts trailing to the freshly made bed.
“No, I’m not on my way home,” Grant finally said.
“What?” The doors squeaked closed and the old elevator lurched upward. Disappointment eased its way into Colton’s chest.
“I won’t be home tonight,” Grant told him, his voice sounding somewhat hushed.
Colton imagined him still in a business meeting somewhere with a room full of executives sitting around a gigantic table.
“It will be at least a few more days, maybe another week.”
“Grant,” Colton whined, hating that sound in his voice. He couldn’t help it, he was so disappointed. Water dripped off his hair into one of his eyes. It stung and he swiped at it angrily. “This is the second time in a row this business trip has been extended.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice,” Grant said, not really sounding sorry at all. “I do have to work, you know.”
Colton huffed, so angry and so disappointed he couldn’t even speak.
“Are you there?” Grant asked.
“Yes,” Colton said, his throat tight, unshed tears stinging his eyes.
“Again, I’m sorry,” Grant said. “I have to go now. I’ll let you know something as soon as I can.”
“Talk to you soon,” Colton said and then added, “I love you.” The line was already dead.
The elevator grumbled and groaned all the way to the third floor and then the doors opened slowly. Colton clipped his phone back into its holster, picked up his grocery bags and slogged down the hall toward their apartment. His shoes made wet, squishy sounds with each step and his normally happy and optimistic mood had soured completely. Since speaking to Grant, all he felt was miserable and lonely.
Up ahead, a neighbor who lived right across the hall was unlocking his door. At the sound of Colton’s wet approach, he glanced back over his shoulder. Colton hesitated only slightly. He’d seen this big man around for a couple of months and noted that he was always alone. He was handsome in a rugged way with dark shaggy hair and scruffy stubble. Colton didn’t think the two had ever even spoken. But he found the man’s size and his quiet, lone wolf demeanor intimidating.
To Colton’s surprise, the man nodded and offered him a tight, polite little smile. Colton forced a smile through the haze of his misery in return and said, “Hello.”
Colton was relieved when the neighbor stepped inside his apartment and closed the door firmly behind him. He just didn’t have the mental energy for introductions right now. Placing the groceries on the tiled hallway floor, he fished around in his pocket for his apartment key. For one horrifying moment, he thought he’d locked himself out, but he finally found it, slid it into the lock and pushed his door open.
Once inside his own apartment, Colton tossed the keys onto the little table at the entry and then carried the groceries into the small, galley style kitchen. It was so small there was only room for one bag on the counter. Reluctantly, he placed on the other one on the floor.
At last he forced himself to relax. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath as his anger and disappointment swept over him. He’d planned this whole weekend with Grant. A quiet, stay at home weekend with plenty of quality time before Grant was gone again. Well, those plans flew out the window with one phone call. Another lonely weekend stretched out before him.
In the bedroom, he peeled off his wet clothes and avoided looking at the beautifully made bed, with the plumped pillows and smooth, pale blue sheets. The color had reminded hm of Grant’s eyes. He’d even gone so far as to leave a rose on Grant’s pillow.
“Grant’s right,” he muttered to himself, yanked off his socks and tossed them onto the pile of wet clothes. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”
His statement was punctuated by thunder rumbling across the sky.
After a quick, hot shower, he dug a pair of old baggy gray sweat pants out of the dresser and put them on. Grant had told him a dozen times to throw them away but he refused. Pulling an equally old t-shirt over his head, he was beginning to feel at least human again. He returned to the kitchen, pulled the stack of mail out of the bag and set it aside. Then he began putting the groceries away.
“No sense letting this go to waste,” he said to the empty space as he set the bottle of wine on the counter and opened it. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a wine glass and poured the deep burgundy liquid into the glass. The first sip made him feel better, its warmth spreading down through his body.
Carrying the glass of wine in one hand and the mail in the other, he went into the living room and snuggled onto his favorite spot on the sofa. Just the thought of going through all of this made him tired. He sat there looking at it for a moment and was tempted for the second time to just trash all of it.
Finally, he picked up the first envelope and immediately cut his thumb while trying to pry open the flap.
“Damn” he hissed, quickly sucking his thumb into his mouth.
Aggravated with himself now as much as the whole situation, he went into the bathroom and held his thumb under cold water until the bleeding stopped. He searched through the medicine cabinet and found a box of band aids. There was only one left, but he was grateful for that one and managed to get it around his thumb without mangling it too badly.
On his way back to the living room, he remembered he had a letter opener that belonged to his grandmother in the top dresser drawer. It was a beautiful piece, well-made, with a bone handle. One of the few things he had of hers and he adored it.
“Who uses letter openers?” Grant had scoffed when Colton showed it to him after returning from her funeral.
“Probably no one, but it makes me happy,” Colton had said.
In the bedroom, he found the letter opener right where he remembered hiding it out of Grant’s sight and returned to the living room. With the mail flipped upside down, he picked up one envelope, slid the sharp blade up under the flap and sliced through the paper easily.
“Much better,” he said to himself.
As he worked through the envelopes, he smiled, imagining his grandmother using the letter opener. Unlike this mail, which was surely mostly junk, she probably received letters from her many friends. Maybe even birthday cards and definitely Christmas cards.
About halfway through his task, Colton picked up an envelope that he hadn’t noticed before. He should have, because it stood out from the others. It was oddly shaped, taller and more narrow than the rest of the standard sized envelopes. It looked like it was made from expensive, textured linen paper and it was a warm, lovely cream color.
If this was junk, someone was sure spending a lot of money to make it stand out.
Using the letter opener more carefully now, he cut the envelope open neatly, right across the top. Inside he found a single sheet of paper. It was the same quality paper as the envelope and the same color. He pulled it out, unfolded it and saw that it was, indeed, a handwritten letter, the handwriting large and loopy, the words scrawled across the page.
It began with a single name at the top, Lincoln.
As Colton’s gaze strayed down the page, he became aware of the nature of the letter, gasped, put it down and picked it up again. It obviously wasn’t meant for him or Grant.
And it wasn’t good news.
Thinking that maybe this was meant for someone who had lived in the apartment
previously, he flipped the envelope over with shaking fingers. Maybe there was a return address and he could just forward it.
The only address was scrawled across the front in that same big, almost child-like handwriting, and Colton’s breath caught in his throat.
Refolding the letter, he carefully slid it back into the envelope. Then he placed it on the glass coffee table away from the rest of the mail and went to the kitchen to refill his wine glass. He now knew two things.
This letter was meant for the big, quiet, man across the hall.
And it contained some very, very bad news that Colton was going to have to deliver.
Chapter Two
Lincoln Palmer remained in his classroom for as long as he could on a Friday night with the stack of letters on the desk in front of him. He’d had his third graders write him a letter telling him about their accomplishments for the week.
In truth, Lincoln stayed late every night, but Friday nights were the worst, the loneliest, since Jon had gone to Iowa. And thank God, he had decided to teach summer school this year. He would have been a basket case without his work.
The late afternoon rain had turned into a thunderstorm and had caused the electricity in the big building to flicker a time or two. Everyone else had already left and Lincoln knew he needed to leave before the storm worsened.
But, God, how he hated going home to that empty apartment.
As he drove through the rain-soaked streets almost on auto pilot, he manufactured a little flicker of hope, just a tiny ember, that maybe Jon had come to his senses during the week, decided to come home and would be waiting for him there. At a red light, he checked his cell just to make sure he hadn’t missed a text or call, but his notification bar was clear. He’d checked it at least ten times that day and had been disappointed every time. But, still, he couldn’t resist.
This time was no different.
He found an empty parking space right in front of his apartment building and easily slid his small white car into it. A quick dash through the rain and he was inside the building. He stopped at his mail box, opened it and frowned when he found it empty. Jon hadn’t written this week. It was the first week he’d missed, and Lincoln had a bad feeling about it.